


Postlude

by sarabandefive



Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: (more or less), Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Old Married Couple, RPF, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-24
Updated: 2018-09-24
Packaged: 2019-07-16 06:34:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16080476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarabandefive/pseuds/sarabandefive
Summary: A moment of calm on a Chicago evening.





	Postlude

**Author's Note:**

> Set at the end of the first day of the Laver Cup 2018 in Chicago. Team Europe had taken a 3-1 lead over Team World, winning all three singles matches and losing the doubles.
> 
> Disclaimer: This is fiction; I make no claims to knowledge of or accurate representation of real people's lives or relationships.

The first thing Bjorn notices after he pushes open the door of the Team World locker room is the mess. In contrast with the reasonably organised quarters he has just left, the bright red floor of this room is littered with shoes, red shirts, snack wrappers, cans of deodorant, and what look suspiciously like dog treats. A stack of magazines on the table has spilled onto the floor, along with a couple of empty cola cans. The overall impression is one of barely contained chaos.  


The second is that it is practically empty. When Bjorn had taken his leave of the rest of Team Europe the room had been a buzz of activity, players congratulating one another on the day's matches, commiserating over the doubles and planning for tomorrow before they headed home. Here, it seems like everyone has already left. The only sound is the one that he had come looking for.

'....you want to change classes, just do it, okay? I mean, why not? Don't get stressed out about it... Just do whatever you wanna do, I mean it's not like your old man even _made_ it to sophomore year, you're already doing better than I ever did...'

John doesn't seem to have noticed Bjorn come in; he's engrossed in his phonecall, up on his feet and prowling restlessly back and forth by the television. John is terrible at keeping still. Bjorn watches, and can't help smiling when John catches sight of him and his steps conspicuously falter.

'Okay sweetie, I've gotta get going, call you tomorrow, okay?'

John tosses the phone down onto the couch, and glares at Bjorn.

'That was Ava,' he says, unnecessarily. 'What are you smiling at?'

'You. How you can sit in a commentary box for hours when you can't even sit still to talk on the phone, I will never understand it.'

'I get paid for one and not for the other,' John answers, a smile playing across his face despite his obvious efforts to look annoyed. 'And you're not even supposed to be in here,' he continues, crossing to where Bjorn is leaning against the doorframe. 'Unless you're finally defecting from Sweden.'

'Not just yet.' Bjorn reaches out to wrap his arms around John's waist, stroking his fingers across the soft fabric of his shirt. John's body is solid and warm when he pulls it towards him, and he smells faintly of aftershave. 'Although maybe, I could be persuaded.'

He watches the blush rise in John's cheeks as the American reaches up to run a hand gently through his hair. Despite his volatility, in some things John is really very predictable. Still smiling, he presses a light kiss to the other man's lips.

John sighs contendedly, a small huff of breath across Bjorn's skin. 'You could be my vice captain, I guess,' he murmurs. Bjorn snorts.

'Vice captain? Please.' He kisses John again, more intently this time, running his hands up his back, over his shoulder blades, across the muscles that are still noticeable because John still trains, even if Bjorn doesn't, not really; John still pushes himself and everyone around him to be better, to be more, in a way Bjorn just can't find the energy for. John still cares, deeply, about so many things.

Bjorn only really cares about a few things, these days.

Both of John's hands are tangled in his hair when he pulls back.

'Obviously I should be the captain,' Bjorn carries on, only slightly breathless. 'Eleven slams are a bit more impressive than seven, you know.'

'Seventeen,' John corrects him, as Bjorn had known he was going to. 

'Of course, darling. You can handle the doubles matches, then.' Bjorn pulls away from John's embrace and walks over to sit on the couch. He's not tired by any means, but he's reached the stage of his life where he doesn't really see the point in standing when there are more comfortable options available.

'Ugh. God knows they need it, I mean, Jesus Christ.' John sits down next to him with a sigh and curls into him, pressing their bodies together again. Bjorn puts an arm around him. 'None of these kids have a clue what they're doing.'

'I thought I heard a very respected commentator say recently that Jack was the best doubles player in the world.'

'Fuck off.'

'Oh, that was just for the papers, was it?'

John sighs. 'A little, but he is one of the best these days. But that's just because they all suck ass.'

'You are such a supportive captain.'

'Me and Peter would have run rings around these guys. They can't volley. Me and _Mary_ could have. Hell, me and you could probably do it right now.'

Bjorn laughs. 'You think so?'

'Yeah,' John says, and there is a serious note in his voice now. 'I do.' 

It's a slightly sensitive point. Bjorn knows that John still wishes they had played together on tour, that he had spent years trying to work up the courage to ask him. That it was just one more thing that shattered him after Bjorn's retirement. One more possibility gone forever. They have played a few times since then, but it's always been a strange experience, the enjoyment tempered with regret at what could have been.  


Bjorn squeezes his shoulder. He's not sure if he means it as an apology or not. 'Maybe we could play on Sunday, if they need to have an exho,' he offers.

'Hah. No way they'd go for that. You think the audience wanna see a couple of old geezers limping around the court when they could be watching Roger or Novak? Plus, who would we even play against?

Well,' Bjorn concedes, pulling John a little closer to him, 'if they do say yes, I'm available. Just say the word.'

He feels John's smile against his chest.

'Anyway,' he continues after a few minutes of companionable silence, 'I think Kevin and Jack did just fine tonight.'

John laughs at that. The sound is muffled slightly by Bjorn's jacket. 'They weren't great,' he says. 'Roger and Novak were just worse.'

'That's all it takes.'

'Fortunately for us.' John squirms a little, trying to get comfortable. Even like this he can never seem to quite relax. 'And don't even talk to me about tomorrow, fuck. Your boys are gonna eat us alive. At least Kevin has half a chance against Novak, and then maybe he could pull off some kind of miracle on Sunday against Roger...'

Bjorn gasps in mock horror. 'What's this? Leaking information about your schedule before it's officially released?' He elbows John teasingly. 'Allowing the enemy to lure you into false security and find out all your secrets? That's a very serious offense.'

'Oh yeah?' John looks up at him, his eyes glinting mischievously. 'And what are you gonna do about it?'

'I can think of a few things,' Bjorn smiles. 'But maybe they should wait until we get back to the hotel. I came over to ask you if you wanted to share a car.' Much as he enjoys this, even takes a little thrill in being like this in a public place, and though he's pretty sure the rest of Team World have left for the evening, what they're doing isn't wise and they both know it. 

'All right, let's get out of here.' John disentangles himself from Bjorn and stands, then reaches back to pull Bjorn to his feet. It's not necessary - it's not like he's that old and infirm, not quite yet - but it's a thoughtful gesture, and a little surprising for that. John doesn't let go of his hand.

'Don't forget your phone. Should we do something about this mess?' Bjorn says, gesturing with his other hand at the chaos around them.

'What's the point? They'll just mess it up again tomorrow. You know what kids are like.'

'And I know what you're like, and I know that at least some of this is your fault. I hope you don't have any similar ideas for our hotel room.'

John only smirks as he pulls him to the door and out into the empty corridor. It's cold out here now, and their footsteps echo in the silence, but John's hand is warm in his, their fingers laced together as they walk, thumbs tracing gentle patterns against each other's palms.  


'Are you going to hold my hand all the way to the car?'

'Maybe.' John looks over at him, and Bjorn is struck suddenly by the open affection in his eyes, the quiet joy in his expression. Bjorn feels something unfurl deep in his heart as John adds softly, 'you got some kind of problem with that?'

'No,' Bjorn answers, gripping John's hand a little tighter. 'No problem at all.'

**Author's Note:**

> Bjorn Borg retired suddenly in 1983 at the age of only 26, having ammassed eleven grand slam singles titles in his ten-year career. John McEnroe continued playing into the early 1990s, and won seventeen grand slam titles in total: seven in singles and ten in doubles.
> 
> A number of people are mentioned here by name who don't appear. Kevin (Anderson) and Jack (Sock) played the doubles match for Team World on the first day against Federer and Djokovic. Peter (Fleming) was John's long-time doubles partner, and Mary (Carillo) was his partner for his first grand slam victory, the mixed doubles at the French Open in 1977.
> 
> Ava is the youngest of John's daughters, and I have no idea if she is really in college, or what year she is in. Some artistic licence was taken :)


End file.
